The pretender's cry

I wear a smile like painted glass, But cracks run deep beneath the mask. They see the cheer, the strength, the light— But never witness my silent fight. I say, "I’m fine," with practiced ease, While drowning in my own unease. I help, I guide, I lift, I try— While inside me, I break and cry. They call me strong, they lean on me, Yet I can’t find where I should be. The voices taunt, the flesh betrays, And guilt still lingers all my days. I fight a war they’ll never see, While longing just to be set free. I preach, I pray, I speak, I lead— But who will tend *my* aching need? This isn’t weakness, it’s my plea— Don’t just applaud—*please* look at me. I’m more than roles and outward grace, I’m just a soul in need of space. But still I stand, I won’t let go, Though storms within refuse to slow. I cry, I fall, but I’ll arise— There’s healing yet behind these eyes.